Shifting her hips, she yanked her chemise down to cover her exposed thighs, an awkward, jerky movement. Heart wobbling, she sat up, tears shimmering. Hope smashed, an earthenware pot bursting into a thousand shards. He did not want her. He did not love her. Why, he couldn’t have phrased his feelings more plainly. The grim apology; the bitter-edged question. She grimaced at her toes, feeling like a piece of flotsam, discarded, unable to look at him, fighting back the hot, prickling tears that threatened to spill. What had she expected? A marriage proposal? No, of course not—she had lain with him in the knowledge that she would receive nothing in return. She had expected nothing. She had fully believed that she would have the strength to withstand the grisly aftermath, the backlash, any rejection; but now, with a failing heart, she realised she had not. She was weak. What a fool she had been.
Lifting the edges of the linen sheet around her shoulders, she eyed him squarely, schooling her features into a pale, rigid mask, gathering the scant remnants of dignity about her. ‘Nothing, Guilhem. You’ve done nothing.’ Her voice, when it emerged, was clipped and brittle, masking her sadness.
He glared at her, eyes like piercing daggers. ‘I’ve ruined you, Alinor. I’ve taken your innocence.’
She hunched her shoulders forward, drawing up her knees to clasp them. ‘Which I gave freely. I have no regrets.’ She would squirrel the memory away: the tangled limbs, the staggering pulse of release, the tumbling intimacy. She would keep it safe for ever, remember it for eternity.
‘No regrets? Alinor, are you entirely aware of what has just happened?
‘Of course.’ She straightened, drawing herself up to her full, diminutive height. ‘We lay together.’
‘Is that all you can say?’ His mouth set in a furious line.
Eyeing him firmly, she strove to maintain levity in her tone. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
‘No one will marry you now!’
I want only you.
‘I have no wish to marry. I’ve told you that already,’ she countered more firmly, her voice gathering strength.
He raked her expression for some sign, any sign of regret at what they had done, shaking his head in disbelief. Why, he had behaved no better than her stepbrother, a boor and an oaf, plundering her sweet, innocent body like one possessed. The Devil incarnate. He had devoured her, gorged on her, like a man in the desert on the fringes of starvation. She should be ranting and raving, beating his chest with her small fists for what he had done to her and yet, there she sat, chin stuck boldly into the air, arms folded tightly across her chest, absolving him of his sins.
‘Are you quite well?’ he asked, his voice softening as he hunkered down beside her. His bare chest gleamed, taunting her with its beauty, pectoral muscles defined like honed chunks of armour plating. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘I’m fine.’ Her speech juddered, wavered, a flickering candle.
‘Alinor, talk to me, what I have done to you...’ His fingers drifted to her hair; she stiffened. ‘You should have stopped me.’ His hand fell away.
‘I didn’t want to stop you, Guilhem, don’t you understand?’ A lone tear tracked down her cheek, a silver thread.
‘No,’ he said, sitting back on his haunches, ‘no, Alinor, I don’t understand.’
Air gripped in her lungs. Her fingers knotted into her linen chemise, pleating the fabric incessantly. ‘I wanted you, Guilhem, I wanted to be with you, I wanted to lie with you! To know what it was like, between a man and a woman...’
Astounded, he stared at her, incredulous at her blunt, outspoken speech. He had never heard a woman speak thus, with such simple honesty, such frankness. ‘Alinor, you’re not making any sense...to give your innocence away like that...to someone like me...’
‘It’s not like I will ever have another opportunity.’ Her smile was lop-sided, self-deprecating. ‘I wanted it to be you.’
Her declaration drove him to his feet. Shoving one hand through his hair, he drew his thick brows together in a savage frown. ‘Why, Alinor? You don’t even know who I am! I have nothing to give you!’
You can give me your heart.
To her surprise he dropped to his knees beside her, seizing her chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘Stop trying to absolve me of my sins, Alinor, or make me feel any better about what has happened. You know what sort of man I am; you know what I have done. I am not worth it.’
You are! You are! she wanted to scream at him. But staring into the hollowed-out ravages of his eyes, the grim lines carving down the sides of his mouth, she knew that she had lost him. Her chest heaved, a huge dry sob clenching at her lungs, twisting cruelly in her gut like a knife. By taking the first tentative step towards the promise of an uncertain future, she had risked her heart, laying it open on a slab only for him to then tear it apart, bit by bit, leaving the remnants scattered across the ground, torn and destroyed. He had batted her words back to her, unwilling to hear, still caught in the guilt-ridden snare of his past. She had wanted him to believe her, to trust her words, to love her. But she had failed. She had risked everything, body and soul, and had lost it all.
* * *
Curled into a tight, miserable ball, Alinor lay on the sagging, makeshift bed, her spine turned stiffly towards Guilhem. She shivered in her thin layers, her chemise, the sheet wrapped about her shoulders. Her heart ached. What was worse? To have remained chaste and to have never known what it was like to be with a man? To be with him? Or to toss prudence away and plunge into a visceral world, unknown, full of hot shivering delight, joyous abandon. To lie with a man who did not want her.
The coarse plaster covering the wall swam before her vision. Strands of bristly horsehair poked out at angles from the thick layer of mud and animal dung, hard-packed, dry. What would happen now? She would have to go through with helping Guilhem extricate the King from de Montfort’s grip, if only to gain freedom from Prince Edward’s threat to marry her to her stepbrother. But after that? Then she could run, run away to some wind-whipped, isolated place and lick her wounds in private. She would survive.
Sitting upright, propped up against the wall, Guilhem glared at the taut line of Alinor’s back. Shame, like thick burning tar, slopped through him, trailing fire. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes again. He sighed. Sleep continued to evade him, and, judging from Alinor’s constant shuffling and hitching about on the straw mattress, he suspected she was awake as well. The image of her face, intense and fierce, her green eyes blazing, refused to leave his mind, spinning round and round, taunting him. The sound of her voice. I wanted it to be you. His heart plummeted crazily with the knowledge, those astonishing words dropping from her lips. Was it the truth? Her speech drove through the blackness of his mind, flaring down to his heart, igniting the vast frozen lump of his heart. Wrapped around her soft pliable limbs, he had become whole again, bitterness and despair obliterated by her utter trust. And how had he repaid that trust? By gripping it round the throat and wringing every last drop of pleasure from it.
In the darkness, he scowled. How could he have done such a thing? He cursed himself, over and over again, for allowing his guard to drop, for possessing what was not his to possess. She should hate him for what he had done, and yet all she seemed capable of was forgiveness. That morning, when he had told her the story behind his awful scars, Alinor had been on his side. He hadn’t dared to acknowledge it then, but in her fiery defence of his actions, a flash of hope, newborn and wavering, had flickered through his heart. The flimsiest possibility of something more between them. He should have coddled that possibility, nurtured it as tenderly as a baby, but instead, what had he done? He had stamped cruelly on it, snuffed it out, like a spoiled reckless child.
A sharp tap on the door, decisive, disturbed the troubled progress of his thoughts. Springing to his feet, he lifted the iron latch. One of his escort soldiers stood outside.
‘We’ve found de Montfort’s camp!’ the man said excitedly. In the grey pre-dawn light, the gold embroidery shone out from his scarlet tunic. Three golden lions: the crest of Prince Edward.
Seizing his arm, Guilhem hauled him into the chamber, shutting the door quickly. ‘How?’
The soldier’s eyes glittered in the shadows. ‘From where we set up camp on the hill, we were able to see down into the whole valley. John noticed the smoke from their campfires, not far from the outskirts of town. We sent him down to investigate, and it’s definitely de Montfort. The banners are flying and everything.’
‘You took a risk, coming down into the town,’ Guilhem said sharply, frowning at the soldier’s tunic, the identifying emblem shining out from the red cloth. ‘How did you find us?’
The soldier grinned. ‘There’s only one inn, my lord. I stuck my head in downstairs and figured you and the lady would not be sleeping there.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I made a lucky guess.’
‘How soon till sunrise?’
‘Not far off. If we ride now, we’ll reach the camp as the light arrives. The soldier peered past Guilhem to the silent figure lying on the bed, the flimsy sheet revealing the delicate jut of Alinor’s hip. ‘Maybe, when you’re ready, you could meet us and we can escort you there?’
Guilhem folded his arms across his chest, movements precise, decisive. ‘Go back to the other men and send one of them back with a message for Prince Edward, tell him you’ve found the camp. Lady Alinor and I will join you as soon as we can.’
The soldier left, and Guilhem turned towards Alinor. ‘Are you awake? Did you hear what he said?’
‘Yes,’ she said, twisting around to sit up. His voice had been gruff, businesslike. Devoid of emotion, it cut into her, lacerating her flesh like a knife. She swung her bare toes down to the floor. ‘I will dress.’ Her expression, evasive, wary, tore at his heart. Her eyes touched his own, briefly, then slid away.
‘Alinor, I am sorry—’
‘No!’ She bit off his words, her voice shrill, strained. ‘Don’t speak of it. I don’t want to hear another word. What’s done is done, Guilhem. And I, for one, am glad of it. Please don’t wallow in self-pity on my account.’
Stunned, his head knocked back at her blunt, autocratic speech. She was putting him firmly in his place. Curiously, he wanted to laugh; here she was, bossing him about how he should speak, how he should feel towards her, and yet she was the one who should be full of self-pity. She was the victim here, yet she staunchly refused to step into that role. Admiration swept through him at her fervent courage, her whole-hearted bravery. She had given herself to him, freely, and wanted nothing in return. With her words, she was releasing him from any obligation. He should have been relieved, but strangely he was not.
‘This isn’t finished between us, Alinor,’ he said quietly, strapping on his leather belt around his slim hips, securing the short knife in its scabbard. ‘But we have a job to do. I’ll wait outside.’ He ducked his head beneath the lintel and disappeared.
Why did he insist on prolonging this agony? She wanted an end to it, otherwise her heart would shrivel away with sadness. Pitching forward from the bed, Alinor fumbled for her clothes, spread chaotically across the floor. Their disarray mocked her; her utter abandonment to Guilhem had been so overwhelming that she scarce remembered the moment they had fallen to the floor. That time seemed so far away now, another lifetime. Her vision blurred, cloudy with tears.
* * *
Simon de Montfort’s camp lay some ten miles east down the river from the town of Skelton; a collection of white canvas tents, patched and stained from years of campaigning, of being bundled up and tied to the rumps of warhorses. Now they were pitched on the flat ground of a vast flood plain stretching out to a point where the valley sides became steep, banners flapping in the brisk wind. Trickles of smoke rose, hazing the clear air, wriggling up into the first fingers of light pushing across the valley. Although easily found, de Montfort’s men were also able to see any threat coming from a long distance; the camp was heavily guarded, with soldiers set at intervals on the outskirts, battle-ready.
Hidden within a copse of ageing oaks, Guilhem surveyed the layout of the camp, narrowing his eyes. From this point he and Alinor would go in alone, whilst their escort soldiers remained behind in the trees. He shifted forward, his saddle creaking. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said. His breath puffed out white in the chill morning air. ‘I don’t like this at all. De Montfort’s men are too quick to fire off their arrows.’
‘They wouldn’t shoot at a woman, Guilhem.’ Alinor rubbed at the leather rein between her fingers. ‘Look at me; I’m hardly a threat.’
His jaw tightened. He didn’t need to look at her, that slender, proud figure sitting bolt upright on her horse. Every enchanting line of her body, every soft delectable curve, was imprinted on his brain, etched, gouging into his conscience. Whilst he had waited outside the chamber at the inn, she had dressed with remarkable speed, somehow managing to lace herself into her garments without help, pinning up her hair into a tight, plaited bun. Her veil, circlet and wimple were all in place, fixed and secure, stabbed with numerous hairpins. Her manner was brisk, efficient, almost to the point of brittleness, her speech minimal, as if by holding herself in so securely, no outward emotion would reveal itself.
He had done this to her. He had turned the brave, smiling Alinor into this tense, constrained shadow. And if he stayed around her much longer, he would surely make it worse.
‘Guilhem?’ Her voice nudged at him, brought him back to the present.
At the edge of the woodland, a group of magpies swooped down, chattering excitedly, an aggressive, guttural sound, their wings blue-black, glossy.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ he replied darkly, scowling across the sunlit fields, dew coating the grass like a cloth of diamonds, to a point where a soldier, dressed in Montfort colours, stood guard. About half a mile behind him the canvas tents flapped and bowed. This whole situation was so wrong. Every instinct told him to bundle Alinor away and carry her to a place of safety, where no one could ever harm her. Where he could look after her, care for her. But after what had happened between them, would she have him?
Alinor shifted her position in the saddle as her horse sidled gently beneath her. She leaned forward, patting the palfrey’s neck. Her fingers were slender, nails like pink shells against the grey frothing mane of the animal. ‘Guilhem, I’m not frightened, if that’s what you’re worried about. And it’s my only option; I have to do this, or Prince Edward will force me to marry Eustace.’ Her voice was clipped, toneless. ‘What’s my alternative?’
Marry me. The insane thought popped into his head, unbidden. He blinked in surprise, then shook his head. What utter madness.
‘My own father is in that camp, remember? I can ride up alone and approach the guard first. Nothing is going to happen to me.’
He gritted his teeth. Her reasoning made sense, although it went against every code of chivalry to allow a woman to enter into a military camp unarmed, alone. ‘All right,’ he agreed reluctantly, ‘but the moment that soldier grants you access, beckon me forward.’
Alinor kicked her heels into the palfrey’s rounded flanks, as if she couldn’t wait to be away from him.
* * *
Trotting forward through the sparkling grass, bridle clicking in time to the horse’s pace, Alinor let out a long slow breath of release. Her chest throbbed with sadness, a dull, widening ache. She was almost there, almost at the point where she could break away from Guilhem and hide. She couldn’t go home, or return to the Priory and the welcoming arms of the nuns she knew and loved, much as she wanted to. No, she would head north and find another nunnery willing to take her in. It couldn’t come soon enough.
Following a stunted hawthorn hedge, she made her way towards the soldier, making sure that she was visible at all times. She knew
the man had spotted her, by the immediate way he stood to attention, one hand moving to his sword helm. Planting a wide, fixed smile on her face, she slowed the horse to a walking pace, hooves whispering through the thick verdant grass. Through the slits of his shining helmet, the soldier watched her approach calmly.
Alinor reined in the horse, a few feet away from the soldier. The hem of her lavender-coloured gown rippled in a low curving arc along the horse’s flank. ‘Are you with de Montfort?’ she asked, her voice high and imperious.
The soldier bowed, then tipped his head up to her. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘I am Lady Alinor of Claverstock, and I believe that my father, Peter, the Earl of Claverstock, is in your camp.’ She gestured towards the cluster of tents. ‘It is imperative that I see him, for I have urgent news to convey.’ Let the soldier think the worst, for at the moment, her brain was too scrambled to think what her ‘urgent news’ might be.
The soldier shifted his feet slightly. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
‘I have my manservant with me,’ she explained. ‘But he stayed by the trees for fear that you might shoot him. Can I beckon him to come forward?’
‘Is he armed?’
‘A short knife on his belt. For my protection, that is all. You don’t think I would travel completely undefended?’ She raised her eyebrows, expression faintly condemning.
Behind his helmet, the soldier blushed, nodding his assent. He watched as she raised her arm into a graceful half-circle, and a man pulled away from the shadows of the trees, a tall man with huge shoulders, dressed in a ripped, threadbare tunic.
‘Take me to my father,’ Alinor instructed the soldier, as Guilhem moved up to her horse’s head and grabbed the bridle. ‘My manservant will lead me in.’
The soldier marched off down the trackthat ran alongside the river. Checking that he was far enough ahead of them not to overhear, Alinor leaned forward and touched Guilhem’s shoulder. A surge of longing whipped through her, leaving her shaken. It was the first time she had touched him since they had lain together.
Commanded by the French Duke (Harlequin Historical) Page 23